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Jay-Z’s 4:44 Is a Testament to Capitalism

It’s partly a response to Lemonade, but mostly a thoughtful reflection on how to spend money in America.

“Billionaire” has become a profane word. The reality show that introduced millions of Americans to Donald Trump had the O'Jays "For the Love of Money" as a theme song, which was playful and tongue in cheek in 2004 but now feels like a twisted omen. Benevolent billionaires were vilified for connections to Wall Street during the election. Even Barack Obama was chastised for collecting large sums of money for speaking fees. After listening to Jay-Z's 4:44, you can be sure the latter incenses him, because as much as his latest album is a response to his wife Beyoncé's Lemonade (where he addresses his infidelity and role in Met Gala fight with Solange) it is also an ode to capitalism. Specifically black capitalism. The rapper who once rapped back and forth with Nas about being a "Black Republican" is, according to Forbes, third in line to becoming our country's first hip-hop billionaire (behind Diddy and Dr. Dre). On that track, Nas posed the question: "Could it be the forces of darkness against hood angels of good that forms street politics?" 4:44 answers with a resounding yes—a testament to the almighty dollar.

Existing as billionaire, an entrepreneur, without acknowledging that he's accomplished it as a black man would be futile.

In his youth, Jay-Z rapped about owning Basquiats just to brag about them. But now he speaks methodically, sharing a lesson of how he's amassed his wealth: "I bought some artwork for 1 million / 2 years later, that shit worth 2 million / Few years later, that shit worth 8 million." But he doesn't share this condescendingly like he's Cliff Huxtable. It comes from a place of joy—his ability to leave that wealth to his children, to start his family on a history of generational wealth. When he recites O.J. Simpson's infamous "I'm not black, I'm O.J." quote, it's met with a condescending "...okay," as a means to remind you that Jay-Z won't forget where he came from. For O.J., success meant he got to leave his blackness behind—during his murder trial, his lawyers famously redecorated his home to replace pictures of O.J. and white people to pictures with black people. Jay-Z doesn't want success so he can deny where he came from. He called himself a black Republican for a reason. Existing as billionaire, an entrepreneur, without acknowledging that he's accomplished it as a black man would be futile. Whereas most wealthy people want their names plastered on buildings so their name is spoken in reverence and never forgotten when they're gone, Jay-Z more than anything wants to provide for his children. Not an unearned inheritance, mind you, but an actual magic bullet that could cure most of our community's ailments. It's why the video for "The Story of O.J." is peppered with images of lynching and redlining of black Americans throughout history.

Black wealth often comes with a caveat: it belongs to rappers who have sold drugs to get their start or athletes who perform at the pleasure of white businessmen to provide for their families. Jay-Z used to be proud of his origins. He's rapped about them with pleasure since Reasonable Doubt, but now he's ashamed of them and the hubris they've produced. When Jay-Z was accused by Harry Belafonte of not providing a respectable image of himself to black Americans, there's no denying it influenced him. "They have not told the history of our people, nothing of who we are… I think one of the great abuses of this modern time is that we should have had such high-profile artists, powerful celebrities,” Belafonte said. “But they have turned their back on social responsibility." For Belafonte, black wealth isn't about ego, it's about supporting your community. Jay-Z's initial response: "I'm offended by that because first of all, and this is going to sound arrogant, but my presence is charity." But since then, he's made his private charity a public affair. More recent years have seen Jay-Z donating money to Black Lives Matter and campaigning for Hillary Clinton. It might be nouveau riche to brag about your bank account or home in Calabasas, but when you're using that bank account to positively uplift your community and provide positive aspirations like that of a devoted father and businessman, then so be it.

You might expect a morality tale like this to come from a place of respectability—but this is not Jay-Z's To Pimp a Butterfly. It's owning up to the hubris that he displayed in the past like boasting about his sexual conquests on "Big Pimpin" or "Girls, Girls, Girls" have come back to haunt him as he attempts to raise his daughter Blue Ivy and respect his marriage vows to Beyoncé. It might seem vulgar to connect the romantic exploits of two celebrated stars with the history of black oppression in America, but Jay-Z juxtaposes them to show the difference between selfish love and true self-love. As RuPaul says in every episode of Drag Race, "If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?" An appropriate quote, since Jay-Z's 4:44 also happens to be his most LGBTQ-positive album. Reasonable Doubt had the lyrics: "Too many faggot niggas clocking my spending / Exercising your gay-like minds like Richard Simmons." But this album has a song dedicated to gay Best Picture winner Moonlight and "Smile" features a duet with his mother Gloria Carter, where she comes out as a lesbian. To truly love yourselves and others selfless, without ego, is to love every aspect of a human—including their sexuality.

One of the standout moments of the album comes when Frank Ocean sings: "Solipsistic, admit it, I see you there / So it seems, so you seem / I can't tell if you're image or are just the flare / In my dreams, in my dreams." If you had to look that shit up afterward, don't fret, you were meant to. The use of "solipsistic" on 4:44 is intentional. As the theory that only the self is what can be known to exist, it's Jay-Z admitting to his history of selfishness and breaking free from staring at his own reflection in the pool like Narcissus. For Beyoncé, control is something she fought for at a young age to be taken seriously in a patriarchal society—it's why Beyoncé sang about her bills and being an independent woman in her Destiny's Child days, long before she sang about losing and regaining that control in Lemonade. For Jay-Z, a man who once felt like the King of the Marcy Projects, that lesson was often harder to grasp. But on "4:44" he begs Beyoncé, "please come back to Rome." Because what's the King without their Queen?